Stone vs The Cubs
by CatwomanNY
Summary: I hate summaries...Peter Stone takes on his wife, the General Counsel for the Chicago Cubs, in court. Can he do what he has to do to win and still keep his marriage? Rated M because...well, when you play with Philip Winchester (Peter Stone) it just happens.
1. Chapter 1

"Mmm," Peter wrapped his arms around the beautiful woman in the kitchen of the Lake Shore Drive condo he shared with her, "something smells good."

"Thank you." Polly smiled as her husband pecked her neck and she relaxed into his embrace. "I'm trying something new for dinner."

"Yeah, dinner smells good too." As she laughed, he kissed her cheek and went to the fridge. "How was your day?"

"Not terrible. The new crop of rooks look promising so I'm drafting interesting deals."

"When do you leave for Arizona?" He handed her a beer.

"Next week some time. Pitchers and catchers just reported yesterday. Why? Are you finally going to take a few days off and come with me?"

"Depends on my caseload."

"I could have named that tune in one note." She shook her head, wisps of her long auburn hair falling out of her clip. "So, how was your day?"

When she turned to look at him, he gently brushed the hair out of her face before leaning down and kissing her. "It just got better." It was what he always said, but it always made her smile, and her smile could make even his worst day into his best.

"You know, it's only because you're cute that that line still works on me after ten years." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she enjoyed his smile. "Now tell me how your day really went, Mr. Deputy Chief."

"Answer me one question first."

"Move to strike. Non-responsive."

"Overruled, subject to connection." He smiled as she smirked. "Were you at the courthouse today?"

"Objection. Leading."

"OK, I'll rephrase." He loved when she would play this game with him. She would eventually answer, but she would make him work for it, and it would be worth it because, with each question, she settled further and further into his embrace. "Where were you, Mrs. Stone, between the hours of one o'clock and three o'clock today?"

"Running errands downtown."

"What errand were you running in the Cook County Courthouse?"

"Ooo, I'm impressed." She grinned. "I thought for sure you were going to ask another leading question."

"Move to strike. Non-responsive."

"Sustained." She laughed. "Touché, Mr. Stone. I was there filing a motion and then popped in to see my brilliant and handsome husband deliver one of the best closing arguments of his career."

"So, to circle back to your request, you know exactly how my day went."

"I know how closing arguments went. I don't know what the verdict was."

"Would I be home this early if it were anything but a 'W'?"

"Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence."

"Allow me to rephrase." He leaned down and whispered in her ear, feeling her melt against him. "Would I be in this good a mood if it were anything but a 'W'?"

"Objection." She continued their game though, with his breath hot against her neck, it was getting harder to do. "Leading."

"Sustained." He seized her mouth in a passion-filled kiss that sent her hands into his hair, pulling him closer to her, and he lifted her onto the counter…just as his cell phone rang. "Damn it."

"Just tell Mark that you can't talk now." She pulled his tie loose as she kissed him again. "You're about to get laid."

He laughed as he pecked her lips before pulling away. "I don't think that's going to work."

Watching him take a deep breath to compose himself, Polly enjoyed the role of Deputy Chief Assistant State's Attorney he slipped into, even with his tie undone and his hair a little mussed from her hands running through it. It was a position he had been destined to play even more than the one he'd had with the Chicago Cubs, which is how they'd met. It seemed like a lifetime before that moment, but had only been ten short years. He'd been a star pitcher, lowest ERA in the history of the franchise, and she was a fourth-year law student intern out of the University of Chicago Law School. She'd been invited to sit in on negotiations after only being there a month and her first meeting had been with the right-hander out of New York, Peter Stone.

His blue eyes had been just as piercing, able to see through her with just a glance. His red hair had been more of a strawberry blond and a lot longer than the rich golden-brown color of the shorn locks of the lead prosecutor of Cook County, indicative of his young age and time in the sun. He'd been handsome, confident, intelligent, and unforgettable. He'd also been two years younger. She'd never dated a younger guy before, but Peter Stone was wise beyond his years. He also hadn't taken no for answer. His drive, his determination, along with his maturity and his sense of humor had been what had finally worn her down into saying yes to his third request for a date.

The deep emerald eyes of his wife followed him around the room, he could feel them even with his back turned. Then again, he could feel them when he walked into a room. It had been what had drawn him to her in that conference room ten years before. They truly were windows to her soul. Paired with her porcelain pale skin, wavy auburn hair, and hourglass figure, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. She'd been a deadly combination of brains and beauty, still was, with a wicked sense of humor, a smile that could light up all of Chicago, and a drive to succeed that paralleled his own. Their age difference had been a source of amusement for him and a speed bump for her, but he wasn't about to walk away so easily. Nothing worth having ever came easily and Polly Keegan was worth having.

"Don't tell me." She sighed as he hung up with a familiar apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Birdie." He kissed her. "Rain delay."

"It's just the first inning."

"Don't worry. We're going to get the whole game in tonight. I promise. An hour, two tops." Kissing her playful pout, he re-tied his tie, and headed for the door. "Save me some of whatever smells so good."

She nodded and hopped down off the counter. "I love you, Nineteen."

"I love you too, Birdie." He pulled on his coat with a smile and was gone.

Birdie. The first time he'd called her that he'd been so drunk she hadn't thought he'd remember, but when he'd called her that the next day, she'd had to asked him why. 'Like the parrot.' He'd said, with a straight face. 'Because I squawk at you?' She'd countered. 'No, because you soar high above me with grace and beauty.' It had been one of his cheesiest lines, but it had worked because of the look in his eyes. He'd made her believe it was the truth. It was the same way he talked to a jury. It was why he had the best win/loss ratio of anyone in the office. It was how he made it to deputy chief in record time.

It was almost midnight when Peter let himself back into their condo and found it dark. "Shit." He cursed under his breath as he tossed his briefcase onto a chair, his suit jacket landing on top, and walked into the kitchen. Polly's stylish handwriting gave him instructions for heating the food in the container on the counter, but he suddenly wasn't hungry so he placed it in the fridge and headed back to their bedroom. "You're still up." He said with surprise when he opened the door and found his wife reading in the king size bed.

"I'm a die-hard fan and I was promised a game tonight."

"Yes, you were, and I thank you for your patience."

"This is Chicago. I'm used to lake effect weather. Besides, I know it's going to be rewarded."

"Really? How do you figure?" He pulled off his tie and kicked his shoes towards the closet as he made his way to the bed.

"Number nineteen is on the mound tonight. The Cubs are going to win."

"How do you know if it's just the first inning?" Before climbing on the bed, he dropped his pants, watching his beautiful wife lick her lips, and felt his body react.

"I can feel it. There's something in the air tonight." She melt beneath him as he kissed her.

"You always were my biggest fan, Birdie."

"Perk of being your wife." Touching his cheek, she enjoyed his smile before he kissed her again, this time with a little more lust, a little more hunger, and she felt the familiar fire ignite in her belly.

Her hand went into his hair, her long nimble fingers locking in place as he caressed her neck before releasing as he slid his hands under her t-shirt, listening to her gasp.

His hands were big and strong, the way a man's hands should be, but they were also surprisingly gentle with her. They floated over her stomach followed close behind by his sensual kiss. It always made her moan. After ten years, it should have been old, but it was anything but. He knew her body, knew just what to do to it to make her writhe with pleasure, and exploited that knowledge for their mutual benefit.

He loved caressing her soft skin. He loved the feel beneath his finger, loved the way his touch caused her to react, and loved that, after ten years of being together and six years of marriage, it still felt like the first time every time. She was so soft, smelled so good, and got hotter with each deliberate touch. Her five-foot ten-inch frame was like a backroad, like the song said. He knew every curve and every place to slow down and take his time.

It took all her focus to simply breathe. The pleasure center of her brain was overloaded the moment that he slid his strong masculine hands down her hips, sliding her favorite worn cotton pajama pants ever so slowly off her body. By the time he'd thrown them, and her underwear, to meet his on the floor, she was more than ready for him.

When he slid inside her slick depths, she moaned and wrapped her sculpted legs around his waist. They fit like his hand inside his glove. They moved together in a harmony all their own, always had, and made the world fall away. Her long, slender, perfectly manicured fingers held onto his shoulders until she couldn't hold on anymore and then he waited for her, listened to call out for him, and felt her shutter around him.

After her peak, she kissed him long and slow, and then began bucking against him, willing him to move again, willing him to finish what they started. She listened as he moaned her name, his eyes closed, his hands grabbing onto the sheets, letting go of her, and then he fell over the edge. "I told you. With nineteen on the mound, the Cubs can't lose." She smiled and touched his cheek, watching him smile before he kissed her.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Saturday, Peter awoke to the sound of the house phone and reached to the nightstand with a sigh. "Stone."

"Hey Peter. I need to speak with Polly. It's urgent." The familiar voice came through the receiver.

"Yeah. Hold on." Pressing the mute button, he kissed the exposed shoulder of the woman asleep beside him. "Pol, it's Jed." He unmuted the phone when her hand emerged from under the blankets at the sound of the Cubs' general manager.

"This is Polly." What came next made her throw back the covers and jump out of bed. "You tell him not to make a statement until his attorney gets there. Have they fingerprinted him or asked for elimination samples?"

Peter was about to ask if there was something he could help with when his cell rang and he was brought up to speed on a high-profile murder just three blocks away in the home of one of the Chicago Cubs star players. "Mark, I can't be on this."

"The fact that you used to play for them is one of the reasons I want you on this case. You can see it from all angles."

"That's not what I mean. I have a conflict because my wife is general counsel for the Cubs. She's handling the defense."

"She's a corporate litigator, Peter. Do you really think she's going to stay on it?"

"Do you want to take that chance?"

"She's not stupid. She'll conflict herself out as soon as she knows you're on the opposing side and get the guy to hire some overpriced mouthpiece. I need you on this. This is a press case."

"I hope you're right." He sighed and hung up. "I've always wondered what it would be like to go up against you in the courtroom." He smiled as he walked into the shower.

"No, you've always wondered what it would be like to take me on one of those tables in the courtroom."

"That too," she laughed at his smirk, "but I need to ask, Pol, are you staying on this or are you going to hand it off to Jake Swanson?"

"Management's call. Not mine."

The look in her green eyes told him that she was being honest. This was a press case and, while the head office would listen to her, there was no guarantee that they would take her off simply because he was opposing counsel. The fact was, they may keep her on because he was opposing counsel.

"Polly Stone. My client is waiting for me." She pulled out her business card for the officer at the police line thirty minutes later.

"I'm sorry, ma'am,"

Peter pulled out his badge and nodded to which the officer lifted the tape, argument silenced.

"You did not just badge flash me on to this scene." Polly said through gritted teeth as they rode in the elevator. "I am not some ambulance chasing lightweight who happened to hear about this on Facebook."

"To that cop, you are." Leaning down, ever so slightly, he whispered in her ear. "You're in my clubhouse now, Birdie."

The truth was, no matter how much he was enjoying it, Peter was right. No one in the arena she was stepping into knew her, her accomplishments, or her ability. It was going to make defending her client an uphill battle, but she had never backed down from a challenge and she wasn't about to start simply because of her husband. "Polly,"

"Stone." Antonio finished with a smile and walked over to the door to hug his boss' wife. "How've you been?"

"Careful, Antonio. She's defense counsel." Peter said with a smile and watched as his lead investigator took a step backwards, his smile gone.

"Wow. I think I just turned green and sprouted warts." She laughed. "I'm not the Wicked Witch of Wrigley. I have a job to do the same as you two. Speaking of, where's my client?"

"In the bedroom. I'll show you." Antonio walked her back. "He hasn't said two words since we arrived. Under your instruction, no doubt."

"Yep." She smiled, but it wasn't returned. "Give me five minutes with him and I'll call you back for a discussion."

Peter nodded and leaned against the wall facing the door she'd just closed. "Bring me up to speed while we wait." He looked over at Antonio.

"About an hour ago, our star catcher in there comes home from spring training to surprise his wife only to be surprised himself when he finds her stabbed on the floor of their kitchen. Or so he says. When we arrived, he was covered in blood, the murder weapon appears to be a steak knife from the block on the kitchen counter, and the body wasn't even cold. He was going on about how she was the love of his life and could never do this, but then he takes one phone call and suddenly he's a clam."

"He called the GM who called Polly." He sighed. "Did you get elimination prints and a DNA sample?"

"We were about to, but after he answered his phone, we couldn't even get him to accept a cup of coffee."

"Wait, you said he took a call. He didn't make it?"

"That's what I said."

"Pull his phone records. I want to know when exactly he called Jed, and, while you're at it," he wrote a phone number on the back of a business card he found in his pocket, "pull the records for this number as well."

"Whose number is this?"

"Mine. Ours." He stammered. "It's the number Jed called her on."

"Can we do that?"

"I'm her spouse and I'm giving consent." At least that was what he was going to argue in court when Polly made a motion.

"I like the way you think." Antonio smiled just as the bedroom door opened. "Finally. Can we take his statement now?"

"Patience, Detective Dawson." Polly smiled and motioned for the two men to step inside. "First things first. I need you both to witness this. Mr. Rossetti, I need to inform you that the good-looking man in the perfectly tailored suit, Assistant State's Attorney Peter Stone, is my husband. We share a mortgage, a car payment, and a bed. The rules of ethics state that this is a conflict of interest hindering my ability to represent you. You have the right to dismiss me and hire your own counsel."

"Like I said before," the twenty-something black-haired man at the window interrupted, "I don't care. You're the team's lawyer, right?"

"Yes, I am the general counsel for the Chicago Cubs baseball franchise, which, as an employee, makes you my client."

"Then, as long as I can still play ball, I don't care who you shag at the end of the day." He waved his hand with a dismissive gesture.

Peter coughed to keep from laughing. The man was crude, but he also, probably, sounded a lot like he did when he was that age. "OK, then, Mr. Rossetti, we'd like to get your statement now."

"Oh no." Polly interrupted with a shake of her head. "My client hasn't slept in almost twelve hours. He will be going to a hotel for a shower, a good night's sleep, and a change of clothes. Then I will bring him by your office for a friendly chat." She motioned for her client to join her.

"No way." Peter stepped in front of her. "I want blood and urine for a drug test and I want elimination prints."

"And I want a week in Hawaii. Can't always get what we want, Mr. Stone."

"Come on, Polly. We both know that the franchise calls for random testing all the time. This is not an outrageous request."

"Management and the coaching staff can call for random testing. I don't see anyone in that capacity in this room."

"I can get a warrant to compel."

"Yes, you can, but you won't because you know that in the time it takes you to get said warrant the samples will be useless."

"My office, four o'clock this afternoon. I want his statement." He said through gritted teeth.

"Six and I'll bring dinner." She headed for the door with a smirk. "You know, you were right, Peter. It's rather nice to play an away game once in a while."

"What was that about?" Antonio questioned.

"I made the mistake of trying to get in her head."

He scoffed with a shake of his head. "Lawyers."

Polly knew she was shaking when she stepped into the waiting limo at the back of the building. She felt like King Kong on cocaine. This was why she became an attorney. She loved being a litigator, using the law to be an advocate for her client. Peter had forgotten that and she was happy to remind him. His 'Birdie' comment in the elevator had chased the doubt from her head and awoken her fighting spirit. All her life, she'd had to fight to overcome obstacles, to prove narrow minded people wrong who thought she couldn't make it because she was a woman, because she hadn't grown up with a silver spoon. This case was going to be no different except that she was about to wage war against a man she loved, respected, admired, and wasn't sure she could live without.

At exactly six o'clock, Peter heard a knock on his office door. "They're here?" He questioned when he looked up from the motion he was drafting.

"And they brought dinner just like she said."

"She's still a woman of her word, even if she is working for the defense on this case." Peter stood up with a smile and walked down to the investigator's interview room. "Mr. Rossetti, I don't know if you remember,"

"You're my lawyer's husband and you're trying to put me away for something I didn't do. Yeah, I remember who you are."

Polly put her hand on his shoulder. "Mike, just take a deep breath and tell them what happened. Mr. Stone is not looking to lock up an innocent man."


	3. Chapter 3

Monday morning, two weeks later, a messenger was shown into her office and Polly signed for a stack of motions from Peter's office. As much as he didn't get along with his father, he'd learned a lot from him. The Rule of M's, he'd called it. Mountains of motions multiply mistakes. It was true. In order to respond to these, she was going to have to bring on extra counsel, which she didn't have time to find, so something was bound to fall through the cracks. At least until she read the motion to remove her as the counsel of record.

"Give us a minute." Peter said to Valdez when he saw his wife charging down the hall towards his office. "Polly,"

She slammed his office door. "Don't. You can't get my client so you come after me?" She seethed. "You're making this personal?"

"No, I'm not making this personal. I need to establish a timeline and you are my best way of doing that with that phone call from Jed."

"Yeah, well, good luck with that." She pushed a blue-backed set of papers to his muscular chest. "You crossed the line, Peter. That phone call was privileged. You can't grant access to our phone records just because it helps your case. Good to know that you are looking for a street fight, though."

"Pol, I'm not looking for a street fight. I'm looking to protect you. You're out of your league with this case. I can't pull punches just because I'm up against my wife."

"Then don't so I won't have to either. Gloves are off, Stone."

There'd been a look in her green eyes before she stormed out of his office that had him concerned. The woman never cried, never shed a tear in front of him in the ten years he'd known her, but he swore he'd seen tears to go along with the look of determination mixed with hatred. What had he done?

The next morning, Polly arrived at the courtroom fifteen minutes early. The previous night she hadn't gone home, opting instead to sleep on the couch in her office. She couldn't bring herself to face Peter again. He'd gotten in her head, had her rethinking her strategy, her ability, and she needed to get her head back in the game.

"Let's hear from defense on the motion to exclude since it seems to directly relate to the other motions from the state." The judge said as she sat down twenty minutes later. "Mrs. Stone?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Thank you. I'll be brief. The telephone call from my employer is inadmissible as it is privileged. Opposing counsel knows that. Attached to my motion is a listing of the ten numbers that are allowed through. All other numbers are blocked. Mr. Stone didn't have standing to grant access those records because he didn't have standing to waive my client's privilege."

"She's right, Mr. Stone. Just because your name is on the bill doesn't give you the right to use those records at trial."

"Yes, Your Honor, but," he started to defend himself.

"But nothing. Were you acting in your role as a prosecutor or as the tenant of record when you granted access to your investigator?"

"As both. I can't separate,"

"Yes, you can, and you should have, Mr. Stone. The phone records are out." The judge shuffled a few papers. "I guess that does away with the motion to remove defense counsel."

"No, I'd still like to be heard on that."

"Are you looking to file for divorce after we're done here?" She looked at him confused.

He saw Polly smile at the comment and he couldn't stop himself from smiling as well. "No, Your Honor, I'm not, but I'm also not looking to try this case twice because the defendant is granted an appeal due to ineffective counsel."

"Ineffective counsel?" Polly blurted out and looked over at her husband. "Has Mr. Stone forgotten that I've been practicing law since before he was even in law school?"

"Make your point quickly, Mr. Stone." Judge Kingsley scowled. "This is highly unorthodox."

"I am aware of that, Your Honor, and I'm not saying that opposing counsel isn't skilled. Just the opposite. She's probably the best corporate litigator in the six states where she's admitted to the bar, but that's my point. This is a murder case, not a breach of contract."

"He makes a point, Mrs. Stone."

"He usually does, Your Honor, but in my capacity as counsel for the Chicago Cubs, I have had the unique opportunity to represent my clients in a varied array of legal cases. I am not a one trick pony and this is not my first felony rodeo. I have defended clients against DUI charges, assault and battery, domestic violence, and," she looked across the aisle, "sexual assault." Her husband swallowed hard. "Or has opposing counsel forgotten all that I handled for the players when he played for our organization?"

The fear was rising up in him at her comment about the last time he'd appeared with her in a criminal court, but he swallowed it down. He'd forgotten about it, but she hadn't. The gloves were off. "Your Honor, there's a clear conflict,"

"Enough, Mr. Stone. Your motion is denied and might I suggest you consider procuring a good divorce attorney after we're done here." The judge interrupted and shuffled to the next motion. "Mrs. Stone, what is this motion for an adjournment and to allow your client to travel?"

"Yes, Your Honor. My client is the starting catcher for the Chicago Cubs. In order to fulfill his contractual obligations, he needs to attend spring training camp in Arizona. I give the court my word that he will be supervised and only allowed to leave his dormitory to attend workouts and games."

"Your Honor, granting this motion is taint amount to admitting there is a different law for celebrities." Peter jumped in. "If this were any other defendant,"

"He would be allowed to continue to remain employed while he is out on bail. My client shouldn't be penalized simply because his employment requires travel."

"Your Honor, this travel defense counsel refers to is to multiple jurisdictions. There is no way of coordinating with that many probation offices in such a short span of time."

"Then send one of your investigators down to babysit." The judge said with an exasperated tone.

"I'm afraid I have to object to that, Your Honor. My client will be involved in numerous meetings and coaching sessions that are filled with proprietary strategies. It is an undue hardship on our organization to have an unvetted person wondering around."

"I can assure Mrs. Stone that the City of Chicago and the State's Attorney's Office fully vet our investigators."

"I'm sure you do, but are they Cubs fans? Can you guarantee me that what they overhear won't wind up on Facebook or Twitter for our competition to see?" She glared over at him.

"She makes a fair point, Mr. Stone."

"She usually does, Your Honor." He smiled across the aisle, but it wasn't returned. "I will personally select an investigator,"

"Not good enough. My clients cannot afford to have even one slip of the tongue to a spouse about a strategy. They are the defending World Series Champions."

"Your Honor," he shook his head, "you cannot allow the defendant to have special privileges simply because he plays baseball."

"And I'm not." The judge thought for a moment. "Mr. Stone, you used to play for the Cubs, correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor." He looked at her confused.

"Good, then problem solved. Mr. Stone will accompany the defendant,"

"Wait a minute, Judge! I have other cases on my desk. I can't be away for an indefinite amount of time babysitting one defendant. This places an undue burden on the State's Attorney's office."

"The defense is only requesting a two-week adjournment. There are plenty of other capable attorneys in your office that can stand in for you. The defense motion is granted." She banged her gavel. "And we stand in recess."

"He shouldn't have special privileges simply because he plays baseball?" Polly scoffed when Peter walked over to her. "That was rich. I seem to remember you milking all those special privileges. Especially in 2008 during one of my first criminal cases."

"Polly, what are you doing?"

"Reminding you that expunged doesn't mean erased and no one is a saint, especially a ball player." She pushed by him. "We're wheels up at seven tomorrow morning. Do you still remember where to go?"

He'd uttered those words during one of his worst nights. How she didn't leave him after that was just God's grace, but it also made him pull himself back into the game. "Anna, I want you to do a search on our star catcher. He can't be as devoted to his wife as the defense would like us to believe."


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, at six-thirty, Peter stepped out of his Uber at the corporate terminal at Midway. It brought back a million memories. So did watching the beautiful woman slide out of the limo that pulled up behind him. She was always early, found lateness to be a sign of disrespect. Therefore, she was the only woman he'd ever been with who was always ready before he was. "Good morning." He extended his hand and helped her out of the car while the driver grabbed her bag from the trunk.

"Good morning." Polly handed him a coffee cup from the cardboard holder in her hand. "Thought you could use this."

"Thank you."

"Consider it a peace offering. I came at you a little hard yesterday."

"No harder than I deserved." He sighed as they walked. "Pol, you were right. I'd forgotten half of what you did before you got promoted to general counsel."

"Thank you."

"You want to talk about a plea?" He smirked and reveled in her laughter. "I'm taking that as a no."

"Damn straight that's a no. My client says he's innocent and I believe him. We're going to trial and I'm going to have a victory celebration when I kick your ass." She smirked as he laughed.

"We'll see about that." Just then, his cell rang, and his smile was gone. "I have to take this. I'll catch up."

"Tell Anna hello for me."

"What did you find out?" Peter ducked into an alcove.

As they taxied, Polly sat back in her seat and focused on her breathing. She hated to fly even though she did it regularly with the team. Takeoffs were what caused her the most apprehension. The high speed descent down the runway, the trust she had to place in the pilot to have everything in just the right place so they could lift off, it was never something she could bring herself to get used to, even flying on a corporate jet. Suddenly, a familiar cologne drift into her nose, the sound of a seatbelt fastening next to her filled her ears, and she felt a strong hand take hers. "I thought you were keeping an eye on my client."

"I don't think he's going anywhere." He leaned over and kissed her head. "Some things don't change. Your father was a pilot and yet you hate to fly."

"My father was a sperm donor." She sneered as she referenced the man who had knocked up her mother after a one night stand.

"I know, but the fact is still there that you should have,"

"There is no evidence that a career path can be genetically predisposed."

"OK. OK." He chuckled and put up the armrest in between them. "Come here." Putting his arm around her shoulders, he motioned for her to lean against him.

"I can't."

"Birdie," he lowered his voice, "there are only three of us on the plane and there are no cameras. Let me be your husband." She gave in with a sigh and relaxed against his chest. "Just like the old days." He kissed the top of her head.

"Not exactly." She smirked, but it turned into a laugh when she felt him start.

"Not every time, but we definitely had our share of fun." He kissed the top of her head again, his laughter fading to a smile, as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. "You remember our honeymoon? Chicago to Hawaii, non-stop."

She scoffed. "Yeah, whose idea was that?"

"I actually think it was yours because you didn't want a layover anywhere impeding our time together."

"Why didn't you tell me I was crazy?"

"Because I got to hold you in my arms for eight hours. Did you really think I was going to give that up?" They shared a laugh, but it faded when he glanced over at the other passenger. "I'm worried about him, Pol. Have you had anyone talk to him?"

"Peter."

"He's completely withdrawn. I don't think he looked up once during the motion hearing and that got pretty heated. He hasn't looked over at us and we haven't been exactly silent. He needs to be focused on the game or he's going to be no good to the team. A pitcher relies on his catcher."

"He's twenty-one, all alone, and he's just lost his wife. Allow the man some time to grieve in his own way."

"Let me talk to him while we're in the air."

"Ex-parte? Are you nuts? I can't do that."

"No, not ex-parte. You can be there. I just want to talk to him, pitcher to catcher."

"He's not going to listen. You're trying to put him behind bars for the rest of his life for killing his wife."

"Maybe you're right." He kissed the top of her head. "Just do me a favor, keep an eye on him. OK? I want to see a repeat." She chuckled and nodded. "You can open your eyes now. I think we've reached cruising altitude."

"Don't care."

He smiled as he felt her fingers intertwine with his, pulling him tighter around her, but it was bittersweet. "Polly, I'm still going to take you to task in court."

"I know. I'm going to do the same thing. Just because we've kissed and made up doesn't mean that the gloves are back on."

"We haven't exactly kissed and made up yet, Birdie." He whispered in her ear, enjoying the slight chuckle that answered him.

"You know what I'm talking about, Peter."

"I'm afraid I do." He sighed, his smile gone.

For the next three hours, they rode in silence, each afraid to speak anymore. Their drive, their ambition, their determination, all the things that made them so attractive to each other, all the things that they had in common, now threatened to make them enemies. It had each of them thinking of withdrawing from the case and both knowing that was impossible.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" Polly asked when her husband joined her in the master bedroom of their condo and began stripping.

"Going to take a shower before we have to be at the ballpark." He looked at her confused, but he did enjoy the smirk that was on her flawless face.

"Not in here you're not. Guest bedroom and bath are down the hall on the left."

"Oh, come on, Polly."

"What? You made these rules. From here on out, you are Assistant State's Attorney Peter Stone and it's unethical for opposing counsels to sleep together."

"I'm not going to sleep with you. I'm going to take a shower."

"You should. This bed is way more comfortable than the one in there."

"I know and the water pressure sucks in the guest bath."

"Maybe next time my husband is down here with me, we'll consider getting a few contractor's bids, but for right now, suck it up, ASA Stone."

"You are really kicking me out of our bedroom."

"Yes, Peter, I'm really kicking you out of our bedroom. From now until the verdict, there's a Chinese wall between us. There has to be. You are the one person I can't compartmentalize. I can't sleep with you in here and still go after you in court. I owe my client the best possible defense. That means that I need to go for the jugular. So, until this plays out, it's the off-season. No home games, night games, or even exhibitions."

"How about All Star?"

She folded her arms over her chest with a smirk and a shake of her head. "When was the last time the All-Star Game was played at Wrigley?"

"1990. They're due." He smirked as she shook her head again. "Seriously, though, I get it." Placing his hand along her cheek, he pulled her into a soft kiss. "I still love you, Birdie."

"I love you too, Nineteen."

"OK, I'm going to shower in the crappy shower. I shouldn't be more than twenty minutes though."

"We have thirty."

"Perfect." He winked and walked out.

Silence. It was never something that Polly did very well. It always led to her getting locked in her head so she always put the radio on when she was alone and, even with Peter in the room down the hall, she was alone. The station was tuned to country. It worked. It had a great beat and kept her moving.

It definitely kept her moving, Peter smiled to himself when he walked by the master bedroom and watched his stunning, curvaceous wife dancing to Sam Hunt's 'Body Like a Backroad' and then Lady Antebellum's 'You Look Good', and it wasn't her usual moving to the music that she'd do when they had the radio on at home. This was the type of dancing she used to do to put herself through college and law school, the same type her mother used to do before she died. This was the type of dancing that she only did for him these days. It was the type of dancing that kept her looking twenty-one at thirty-seven. "For someone who claims to be in the off-season, it sure looks like you're warming up in the bullpen." He smirked as he leaned against the doorframe.

"I need to be on my game, I need to be fierce, not like that wimp I've been for the last few weeks." She shut the radio off and grabbed her bag. "That still makes me feel in control."

"You haven't been a wimp." He followed her out to the car. "Pol, you haven't been in a criminal court room in two years. You need to allow yourself to have a learning curve."

"Try not. Do or do not. There is no try." She tossed the keys at him. "You drive."

For the second time in as many days, she'd given him a window into her strategy, whether she knew it or not. She could get tunnel vision when it came to a case because of her drive. She would adapt to obstacles she encountered, but never slowed down once she set her sights on a destination. It was what had brought her up from the depths she'd been born into, it was what made her a great corporate litigator, but it was what was going to be her downfall in the criminal case. For the second time in as many days, Peter almost felt guilty for exploiting his knowledge of her.

Polly smirked as she fastened her belt and crossed her legs. She'd seen the wheels start turning in Peter's head. She knew he thought she'd given him something, a tidbit of information, but she'd given him what she wanted him to have. They both knew each other so well, so well that it was going to be interesting to see how they played each other.

Everything was still the same, Peter smiled as he walked into the locker room behind the defendant. There was a new coat of paint, a World Series graphic on one wall, but that was it. Even the smell was the same and it made him nostalgic for the good times when he was playing ball. Then he saw his wife walk past him. "Polly? What are you doing in the locker room?"

"Attorney-client conference."

"In the men's locker room?" She shrugged.

"She's a lawyer, dude." One of the other players answered.

"She's also a woman."

"Yeah, but she's a lady lawyer."

"Guess that makes me sub-human." She smirked as she walked backwards. "What's up, Mike?" She lowered her voice as she approached the man who'd texted her.

"Does he have to follow me everywhere?" Mike grunted as he thrust his chin in Peter's direction.

"Sadly, the judge said that he is allowed to do that if I'm not around. It was the only way we could get you back to camp. I want you to ignore him though. Focus on what you need to do and we'll make him disappear as soon as we get back to Chicago. If he talks to you, you call me. OK?" The kid nodded. "Good." She slapped his shoulder.

"Hey, Polly," Peter called after her, "do you do that often?"

"What?"

"Go into the locker room."

"That's where my clients are if they aren't on the field. I did the same thing when you were playing and you called me down for a conference."

"That was different. You're my wife."

"And now I'm your opposing counsel, right?" She stepped closer to him. "Say it."

"It's inappropriate conduct. I make one phone call to the bar association and you could be facing ethics code violations. You could be disbarred."

"Right now, this is just a back alley skirmish. Are you sure you want a war, Peter? If you do, remember it's a two way street because I could have you brought up on ethics violations for enjoying the show back at the house. My bedroom door was closed." She whispered. "I haven't been scared of what goes bump in the night for a long time. You of all people should know that." He glared at her and she glared at him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Damn it, he cursed to himself. He hated when she was right. He'd been trying to get in her head, but scare tactics weren't the way to do it. There were very few things Polly Ann Keegan-Stone was afraid of and an empty threat of ethics charges and disbarment were not on the list. He had to strike a balance between lawyer and husband. He had to play her weaknesses against her without pushing so hard that she wouldn't come back to him when this was all over.

"Anna sending you dirty pictures?" Polly smirked two hours later when she found her husband in the bleachers working on his iPad.

"The best kind." He handed her the device. "Autopsy photos."

"I saw that email from her. I haven't had a spare second to look at it." She began flipping through the report.

"Then hand this off." He kept his eyes on the field and lowered his voice.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to. This is a press case. This gets me noticed and proves to Thom and the board that they might decision about promoting from within two years ago, promoting me, the girl from South Philly who,"

"Pulled herself out of there and made something of her life." He interrupted. "You are not your mother, Polly."

"Maybe not, but I'm not Ben Stone's kid either."

"Yeah, well, that's not all it's cracked up to be." She scoffed and he smiled. "Oh, woe are we, a couple of degenerate attorneys crying into our scotch." They shared a laugh.

She handed him his iPad back. "You do have other cases, right?"

"One or two."

"Do you still remember where my office is?"

"The new one or the old one?"

"The new one."

"I think so. Why?"

"Because the office next to it is empty and I had Jeff set up the docking station in there so you can go work for a few hours. I'll take over babysitting duties. Besides, when they take their next water break, I'm pulling my client into a sit down anyway."

"In the locker room?" He smirked as he pulled his bag onto his shoulder.

"No, the PT room." She winked when he laughed. "Get out of here, Stone, before I change my mind about being nice."

He jogged to the main building that housed the offices for the team. It was a combination of wanting to get back to work after not really being able to for the better part of the morning and trying to fit at least some form of a workout in after watching the team do what he used to be able to and no longer had time for. He even jogged up the five flights of stairs to third floor. He was energized. Along with the autopsy photos, Anna had also sent him a police report that undermined Polly's innocent farm boy client.

"Can I help you?" A male voice came from behind him as Peter wondered the nearly empty floor. "Wait, Peter?"

"Yes." He turned around and came face to face with his wife's paralegal. "Jeff, right?" They shook hands. "It's been awhile."

"Especially since you've joined her for spring training."

"Is it that obvious?" He asked with a sheepish grin. "I'm looking for Polly's office."

"No, you're looking for the office next door. Her office is locked up and off limits to the enemy." They shared a laugh. "Follow me. I'll give you a quick tour."

After being shown the coffee room, the copier/printer/scanner, and the men's room, Peter was finally shown into an office that was bigger than his back in Chicago. The private sector had its perks. "Thanks, Jeff. This is great."

"Well, I'll leave you to your scheming. I'd say if you needed anything, just holler, but I'm pretty sure that would cost me my job so I'll just wish you luck." He smiled and pulled the door closed behind him.

Twenty minutes later, Polly walked down to the field and talked with the coach. "I need Rossetti."

"Take him. He's useless today." He grunted before shouting to the field. "Rossetti, you're out. Collins, you're in."

"Can I take a shower first, ma'am?" The catcher asked as he ran back to the dugout.

"You can do whatever you want as long as you don't ever call me ma'am again." She smiled and the kid blushed. He was beginning to come out of his haze. "Good. You have ten minutes. Showered, changed, and in my office. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go."

"You're not going to follow me into the shower."

"Do I need to? Are you going to take off for Brazil?"

"No. I didn't hurt my wife."

"Then I think you earned a little privacy. Just know that if you aren't in my office in ten minutes, I will be in there looking for you."

"Got it." He took off running towards the locker room.

"Jeff," she called as she walked towards her office, "can you be a superhero and go get me,"

"A venti Starbucks iced mocha with an extra shot, whole milk, and whipped cream." Peter finished from his office with a smile. "I know that whine. Someone is feeling the time change." He leaned against the doorframe of his office and watched his wife stick her tongue out at him before she laughed. "Grab me an Americano, if you don't mind."

"Don't bother. He has my card." She stopped him as he reached into his pocket.

"Jeff has your Starbucks card? That's like giving him your right arm."

Jeff laughed. "No, I have one of her Starbucks cards. I happen to know she has three. One for me, one for her, and one that's yours."

"This is why I love you." She winked. "Now, please go before Mike gets here. I don't want to fall asleep while in conference."

"You got it, Boss."

"You love him?" Peter crossed his arms and followed her into her office. "Is there something you want to tell me, Mrs. Stone?"

"Objection. Argumentative."

"You're damn right. Answer the question. You just told another guy you loved him."

"I was being playful. Besides," she sat down in her chair, "he was hitting on you."

"What?"

"He's gay, Peter. I've met his husband. You are more Jeff's type than I am."

"Try making that your opening statement, Counselor." He smiled as she did, but it faded when he heard his cell ringing in the other office. "Duty calls."

Polly spent the next six hours behind closed doors talking to Mike, working on strategy, and trying to find some way to keep her marriage intact while still winning her case. It was more exhausting than any case she'd ever worked in her entire career. "Mexican or pizza?"

"How about Chinese?" He smirked when he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway.

"You're mean."

"But right." She stuck her tongue out at him again and he laughed as he packed his laptop into his briefcase. "I don't remember what's open at this hour anymore."

"Armando's."

"That place is still open?" Peter wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked out of habit, but she didn't push him away. "Think we can still get our table?"

"I was thinking more take out. I'm beat."

"Sounds good to me too." He kissed the top of her head before stepping onto the elevator.

They'd gone to Armando's for their first date and it had become their place when they were in Mesa. Even when he stopped playing he'd tried to come down one weekend a month. Then, two years ago, after her promotion, she couldn't even get him to come for one weekend in the three months she was there. "Why did it take a judge's order to get you down here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we used to do this all the time. You'd come down at least once a month on a Friday night, we'd go for dinner, spend the weekend together, and you'd fly back on Monday morning. Then, suddenly, I get promoted, a promotion we talked about ad nauseam before I accepted, a promotion you championed, and I can't even get you to come down once a season. The last time you were down here was right after I took over as general counsel."

"And I got promoted to deputy chief. Believe me, it's not because I don't want to be here or spend time with you, Birdie. It's that I have an average of ten open and active class A felonies on my desk. No judge is going to grant me a continuance just because I miss my wife." He smiled as she shook her head.

"Damnit!" She pushed her plate away and ran her hands over her face. "This case! It's messing with my head. It's more than facing you in court. It's more than this being the most serious felony I've ever defended against. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you."

"Then hurt me."

"Peter, I don't mean,"

"I know you don't. I don't either. I'm telling you to go ahead and zealously represent your client the way you would in any other courtroom. Go for my jugular. Hell, you already have, and you won, but know that I'm going to do the same thing. We both have a job to do. That's all it is. A job. It's not personal."

"I'm having a hard time separating the two."

"Look at me," he put his plate back on the counter, "you were right to bring up that horrible night in Las Vegas for two reasons. The first to remind me that I should never underestimate you," he enjoyed her small smile as he smirked at her, "and the second is to remind yourself of what you said to me afterwards."

"I told you a lot of things that night about my mother, my father,"

"And how you put yourself through school on a pole. Do you remember telling me, in no uncertain terms, that you danced, you didn't strip? Do you remember what you told me as to why that was? You said it was because you felt in control because you knew you had the ability to make those guys fall for you with just the hint of something, but if they tried to touch you, the bouncer would throw them out. You had power." She nodded. "Go into that courtroom and dance."

"I am not going to get up in open court and dance."

"Metaphorically, Birdie. Go into court and don't let anyone touch you." She still looked unsure and he took her hand. "Come here." He pulled her into the living room. "Dance for me." Grabbing the remote, he closed the blinds and moved the coffee table out of the way. "Dance for me right now and show me that you have control because I'm not going to be able to touch you no matter how much I want to, no matter how much I want to carry you back to our bedroom and forget about this damn Chinese wall, I can't."

"Peter,"

"Alexa, play 'House of the Rising Sun' by The Animals." He held her eyes when the music started.

"Peter, this is silly."

"No," he sat down on the leather couch and crossed his legs, "this is a four and a half minute song. Feel free to start anytime." Reaching into his front pocket, he pulled out his billfold and peeled off a twenty. "Would this help?"

"That's demeaning."

"This is only a taste of what I'm going to do in court." There was a sudden flash of anger, of passion, in her emerald eyes as the lyrics started and she began moving to the music, gyrating, grinding, and he felt his body reacting. Her moves were slow and deliberate and she held his eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Of course she knew what she was doing. She'd done it for four shows a week for six years. It was all coming back. Everything he'd said about her having control, having power, was true. The rush she got from dancing, from seeing the look of lust in his eyes and knowing he couldn't do a damn thing about it, was the same rush she got from being in court. It reignited a fire she'd let go dim. Something she was never going to allow to happen again.


	5. Chapter 5

"This witness list is insane." Anna walked into her boss' office. "There have to be at least twenty names on here."

Peter smiled and handed his assistant back the paper. "Polly's not calling all these people to the stand. This is an old trick. We can't prepare for all twenty of these witnesses, but we don't know which ones are real and which ones are meant to throw us off. Though, I can tell you she's not putting the kid's mother on the stand so you can cross that name off."

"How do you know?"

He chuckled. "Polly hates when mother's take the stand as character witnesses. Finds the testimony to be a waste of time because, as she says, all they do is cry and apologize. They offer no useful facts. Actually," he smirked, "she hates mothers in general."

"She also sent over a box of discovery. Do you want to take a look? Maybe you can decipher that as well."

"A box?" He almost laughed as she walked him back to her desk. "She's got her groove back." He said to himself as he thumbed through file folders labeled everything from the kid's airline receipts to doctor's records. It gave them no clear insight into her strategy.

"ASA Stone." Polly smiled as she picked up her phone. "I've been expecting your call. I'm assuming it's because you received my discovery."

"And your witness list. You could have emailed it all and saved a tree though."

"It's all printed on recycled paper and you know me, I'm a bit old school."

"You wouldn't care to tell me what's real and what are the red herring, would you?"

"And ruin all this fun we're having? Not on your life, Mr. Stone." She enjoyed the laugh that floated over the line. "I can expect your discovery on my desk by end of day?"

"I will make sure Anna emails it to you in the next hour."

"Oh no. Not via email. In person."

"Chester's, eight o'clock."

"My office, one o'clock."

He grinned as he leaned back in his chair. "Outfield Deli, three o'clock."

"That's the only deal I'm making on this case, ASA Stone."

"Don't I know it, Counselor." They laughed. "I'll see you then."

"She finally looking for a deal?" Anna asked as she sat down in front of his desk.

"No, she really believes he's innocent." He didn't look at his assistant, his mind trying to figure out how to tweak his theory of the crime to go up against Polly. "Bring me that box. Let me see what I can do with it. Oh, and Anna, print out our discovery. I'll take it to her when I meet her for lunch." He finally looked up.

"Print it out? I've already emailed it."

"Polly's," he smiled, "a bit of a poker player. She's going to go through the folder while I'm sitting there to try and gauge my reaction. I need to be able to do the same thing."

Her husband knew her, but she also knew him. She knew he was going to be the voice of the victim and make her client out to be the devil incarnate while making the victim into a saint. The problem was, the victim wasn't a saint, and she was going to shoot his case full of so many holes that a fleet of Mack trucks could drive through it. She'd given him everything he needed in her discovery packet. It was just buried under a mountain of useless information.

By three o'clock, Peter thought he had a handle on the opposition case, but as he made reference to it, he watched her emerald eyes sparkling, telling him that he was way off base. Damn, he shook his head as he rode the El back to his office. When he'd helped her get her focus back two weeks before, he knew it was going to make it tougher for him. He hadn't figured on how tough. Still, it was nice to see her enjoying the challenge again without fighting against him.

"How'd it go?" Anna questioned as Peter walked through the bullpen.

"We're off base and she's about to pick us off before the next pitch." He threw his briefcase onto his desk chair and began pacing. "She's better than I remember." Picking another file out of the box, he thumbed through it. "Why are these police reports dual discovery?" He handed his assistant the file. "Have Dawson and Nagel talk to the arresting officer. There's more to this story."

The echo of her designer heels filled the courtroom a week later and Peter looked back towards the door with a smile. "Mrs. Stone." She was a vision in her black Armani suit perfectly tailored to her hourglass frame, with her makeup light and highlighting her flawless features, and her long auburn locks pulled up in into a twist without a wisp out of place.

"Mr. Stone. I didn't expect to see you here so early."

"I had a wise woman tell me once that five minutes early was actually on time."

"You were smart to heed that advice." She placed her attaché case on the table across the aisle from him, enjoying his elevator eyes. "You're drooling, Counselor."

"You're beautiful."

"We're working."

"That doesn't change the fact that you could stop traffic in that suit." He sat down with a smirk and pretended to glance at a file.

"You don't exactly look like a bum. I had to keep up." She winked and sat down.

Her opening arguments were concise and compelling. Even he wanted to believe her client was an innocent farm boy from Iowa who had lost the love of his life. It was a great narrative. Peter knew there was a hook. With Polly, her opening arguments only gave a preview of what was to come, not her whole case, and, as he watched her, the same way the jury did, he tried to figure out what the plot twist was going to be because, whatever it was, he knew he was going to have to have a stopgap in place to keep it from unraveling his case.

"Making Rossetti's wife out to be a saint isn't playing." State's Attorney Mark Jefferies called his lead assistant into his office after observing the high profile trial three days later. "Your wife,"

"The defense." Peter corrected. "And yes, she's shooting my case full of holes. I knew there was something up when I saw the dual discovery of the police reports." He sighed as he sank into the well-appointed leather chair.

"Do you think she's going to put Rossetti on the stand?"

"That's what this has all been leading up to. She's going to put him up there to correct the image of the out of control ball player I've been presenting and the poor little woman waiting at home for him. I should have seen this coming. He's going to be her only witness."

"Go after him. Get him to show what his wife saw."

"Polly's good. She's going to shut me down if I get too close."

"Then don't be obvious."


	6. Chapter 6

"All rise." The bailiff called the next morning and watched all in the courtroom comply.

"Be seated." The judge dismissed as she sat down. "Mrs. Stone, please call your first witness."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Polly spoke as she stood up and fastened her suit jacket. "The defense calls Dr. Daniel Charles."

"Sidebar!" Peter jumped up. He hadn't planned for her calling anyone but her client.

"Approach." Judge Kingsley rolled her eyes, covered her mic, and waved the attorneys forward.

"Dr. Charles isn't listed on the defense's witness list. This is an unfair surprise."

Polly reached into her portfolio and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Your Honor, this is the witness list that I served on the People back at the start of this trial. Dr. Charles' name is clearly listed."

"She's right, Mr. Stone." She handed the paper to the prosecutor. "Number seven."

"Yes, Your Honor, but,"

"Step back, Mr. Stone."

"Top of the ninth, I just stole second, and I'm up by one." Polly said under her breath as they walked back to their respective tables.

"Game's not over yet." He answered. "There's always overtime." Unbuttoning his coat, he took his seat and brooded as she began her direct.

"Dr. Charles, how long was the victim, Carly Rossetti, your patient?"

"For a little over a year before her death. She was assigned to me after her first miscarriage."

"Why was she assigned to you?"

"She had miscarried due to an overdose of prescription pain medication."

"So, she'd miscarried due to a suicide attempt."

"Objection." Peter stood up. "Calls for a conclusion."

"One the doctor is capable of drawing." Polly shot back.

"Overruled, but, Mrs. Stone, let the doctor draw his own conclusions." The judge admonished.

"Yes, Your Honor." She nodded. "Dr. Charles, would you say,"

"Objection. Leading." Peter spoke through a clenched jaw.

"I'll rephrase." She held up her hand. "Dr. Charles, what conclusion, if any, did you draw from the cause of Mrs. Rossetti's miscarriage?"

"That her miscarriage had been caused by a suicide attempt."

"Over the course of your treatment, please tell the court what you learned regarding the reason behind that suicide attempt."

"Mrs. Rossetti not only struggled with bi-polar disorder, but also with a dependence to drugs and alcohol."

"Dr. Charles, in your experience, most women are thrilled to learn they are pregnant. Are they not?"

"Objection." Peter interrupted again.

"Subject to connection." Polly looked at the judge.

"I'll allow it, but make it brief, Mrs. Stone."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"You may answer the question, Doctor."

"Yes, in my experience, most women are euphoric to find out they're expecting a baby."

"Why wasn't Mrs. Rossetti?"

"There wasn't one reason. Her two biggest concerns, though, were that she was going to have to raise the child on her own given the high volume of travel her husband did, and that the child would struggle with the same mental illnesses that she did."

"Having read the medical examiner's report and knowing the deceased in your capacity as her psychiatrist, what conclusion did you reach?"

"What has been deemed a homicide could, in all possibility, be a suicide."

A collective gasp went through the courtroom and Polly smiled as she found Peter's deep blue eyes. "Your witness."

"How pissed at me are you?" Polly asked later that night when she walked into their condo, finding her husband on the couch.

He watched her step out of her heels, toss her purse and briefcase onto a chair, free her long hair from the confines of its clip, and return to being his wife and he reached out for her, guiding her into him. "I'm more pissed at myself for not seeing it." When she straddled his lap, he ran his hands up her back, willing her forward into a sensual kiss.

The sound of the zipper of her skirt being unzipped made her gasp and gave him the opportunity to begin lavishing her breasts with hot caresses through her open blouse. "Can we really do this?"

"I don't hear us talking about the case." He took her by the hips and placed her against the couch so he could better remove her skirt, watching as she unbuttoned her blouse to reveal the matching white bra to the white lace panties he'd just uncovered. "These for me?"

His thick masculine finger ran along the inside of thigh, edging the outside of the most feminine part of her anatomy, his eyebrows raising with a sly smirk as she nodded and moaned. "Uh huh." Reaching up, she grabbed his tie and brought him down to kiss her again.

Her nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, her hands running up his chest followed closely by her sweet mouth, and he pulled her to her feet, lifted her into his arms, her long sculpted legs wrapping around his waist. Moving towards the bedroom, they paused against the hallway wall where he kissed her, hard, her hands sliding down his back and into his hair, pulling him closer, her nails digging into his flesh.

Once they fell onto the bed, he tried to pull away, his hands going towards his belt, but she shook her head and got on her knees. "Please let me do that." Kissing him, her hands unfastened his belt, then the button, then slid down the zipper before slipping inside and stroking him through his boxers, listening to him gasp.

"Birdie, don't do that." He felt the world going black, but he couldn't pull her hand away. "You need to be first."

"Not always." She kissed him and continued, watching his eyes rolling back in his head, his square jaw tensing.

"Polly!" He moaned and wrapped his arms around his wife, her free hand locking in his hair, trying, in vein, to stay on his feet as he fell over the edge.

His knees buckled against the bed and she fell backwards, pulling him with her, to keep him from ending up on the floor, and waited for him to come back from the abyss, smiling when he did, his lips hot against her neck. "Mmm, I love doubleheaders."

Pushing himself up, he smiled before seizing her mouth then returning to kissing a line from her slender neck to her ample breasts, lavishing them with his tongue and his mouth, and listening to her breath coming quicker. She writhed beneath him the more attention he gave her and he had to hold her still, his fingers digging into the fleshy part of her rounded hips as he licked and kissed along the top of her lace panties and then the inside of her creamy thighs as he slid them off her toned body.

Writhing turned to thrashing as she felt him do something he hadn't done in years. "Peter." He blew against her sweet spot again and she squeaked, her hands balling into fists as she grabbed onto the sheets. Again and again, he repeated his soft assault of her body until the world fell away, her breath stopping, her body tensing for a split second before bucking wildly.

As she returned from the throes of her orgasm, he sipped at her lips, willed her back to life, and then slid his erection inside her slick depths, holding her beneath him, keeping her from rolling on top. "Not this time. I like being on top. I like watching you." He kissed her as they began to move together.

"You get to do more than watch, Nineteen." She traced her finger along his strong square jawline. "You get to touch." He pecked her lips. "You are the only man who gets to touch."

Her eyes closed and she bit her lip, moving her hips a little faster, willing him to increase their pace, but he continued the slow rhythm, at least for a while, until she started moaning again, calling out for him, and then he couldn't any longer. He needed release as much as she did and he gave in to her, reaching his second peak at the same time she reached hers.

"Dismiss the charges." She panted.

"No."

"OK."

He rolled onto his back and started laughing. "I think I just heard a wall crumble."

"Bring me up on charges." She laughed with him.

"As soon as I can catch my breath."

"It's been a long time since we've gone a month in between games." Polly straddled his waist and leaned down to kiss him.

"Oh no, Pol. I can't. A double-header is all I've got in me."

"Oh, don't worry. I can't either. I'm an old woman."

He laughed again and flipped her back onto the bed. "You are not an old woman. Just look at what you did in court today. I'm probably going to lose my case, and my job, I might add, because of just how badly you schooled me."

"You were the one who told me to dance."

"Me and my big mouth."

She laughed and ran her finger down his jawline. "I rather like that mouth."

Leaning down, he kissed her. "I love you, Birdie." He caressed her cheek and kissed her once more.

"I love you too, Nineteen."


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Peter awoke at five to the sound of his alarm and his wife's side of the bed feeling cold as he reached behind his back to stroke her shoulder the way he always did. Turning on the light, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and saw that she'd picked up their clothes from the previous night and laid out his black suit with a blue tie for him. "Hit it out of the park, Nineteen." He smiled as he read her note. In the kitchen, she'd left another note under his coffee cup telling him she loved him and he smiled again. She was trying to get in his head, which meant that he'd gotten in hers. It was bottom of the ninth, the bases were loaded, and he had one last batter to strike out. The competition was already in his head.

Polly had woken up at three in the morning unable to go back to sleep so she'd gotten up and done everything her husband had awoken to find, but not because she was trying to get in his head but because she was more nervous than she'd ever been. This was the case that could make or break her career. If she lost, not only did a man lose his freedom, but she could lose her job for not being skilled enough. If she won, it meant showing up her husband who already had to deal with the fact that she made twice what he did. To Peter, it had never mattered, but to the outside world, it mattered, and winning a high profile case against him wasn't going to help him not feel emasculated by his wife. The competition they were locked in had high stakes.

"I missed you this morning." Peter said in a soft tone as he took his seat in the courtroom at nine and opened a file.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Worried about today?"

"Among other things."

"Like what?"

"Like you were right. I'm playing in the majors and the stakes are higher than I originally thought."

"Involuntary manslaughter. He does eighteen months."

"Not going to happen. I have half the jury thinking the woman killed herself." She smiled as she tossed her notepad onto the table.

"With a steak knife?"

"The girl wasn't Mother Theresa, Peter."

"And your client isn't the innocent little farm boy lost in the big city either. You know I'm going to go after him today."

"I know and he's prepped."

"That's not what has you losing sleep." He tossed the file back onto the table as he stood up and walked over to her.

"No."

"Talk to me, Pol." He sat down on her table and lowered his voice.

"Wish I could."

"Off the record. As your husband."

She shook her head. "Thanks, but,"

Suddenly, the door opened and he jumped up with a quick squeeze of her shoulder before walking back over to his side of the aisle when he saw Anna enter the courtroom. There was an inner debate raging inside his wife, he could see it in her dark green eyes, but, as usual, she pulled away. Then again, they weren't exactly on speaking terms given the case.

"The defense calls Michael Rossetti to the stand." Polly stood up ten minutes later and buttoned her jacket, the doubts and fears swallowed down.

Peter watched as Polly reduced the room to tears with her direct. Hell, even he was getting choked up. The kid had a background that was similar to hers. He'd lost both parents in a car crash at the age of sixteen and he'd been raised by a grandfather who only saw him as hired help on the farm, never saw the potential he had to play ball. Polly had lost her mother to syphilis, a job hazard, she would always say, at fourteen and had only met her father when Family Services had tracked him down, but he saw her as a nuisance, a burden, and hadn't cared about what she did as long as she didn't interfere with his life.

The kid had met the girl in college and had fallen head over heels. It may not have been love at first sight when he'd met Polly, but it was damn close, at least for him. For her, trust didn't come easy and she'd seen him has some perfect golden boy who was adored by the management and had been brought up with a silver spoon given who his father was, at least until that night in Las Vegas, and then they were both equal, both broken, and she'd finally allowed herself to trust him enough to love him with her whole heart, something she had never done, nor would she do, with anyone else, man or woman.

A high school coach had taken an interest in the kid and talked him into playing baseball as a way of giving him a family. With Polly, it had been a woman who'd been a lawyer in downtown Philly at one of the big firms who had come to speak to the school when she'd been a sophomore. Suddenly, she saw a way out, saw a way of having money, power, respect, and she set her goal and never lost sight of it.

"Your Honor, I respectfully request a recess before I begin my cross-examination of the witness." If he went after him after that, it would backfire.

"I agree, Mr. Stone. We'll take a short fifteen minute recess." Kingsley banged her gavel.

"She's good." Anna said as she dabbed at her eyes.

Peter nodded dismissively and watched Polly help the defendant to table, but he couldn't read her. There was a darkness, a disconnect, and it locked even him out. "Pol," he pushed away from the table and went to her.

"Not now, Mr. Stone." She held up her hand and walked with her client to a conference room.

"What did he want?" Michael asked as he took a deep breath.

"Don't know and don't care." Polly sat on the table and looked at her client. "From now on, I want you to stay focused on that narrative you just laid down. Carly was the love of your life. She wasn't perfect, but neither are you. I don't want you to try and figure out Mr. Stone's strategy. Leave that to me. You answer his questions the way we practiced. Honest, short, and looking from him to the jury. If you feel yourself about to blow up or you are unsure about what to say, you look at me, and I'll object. When I do, I want you to take a deep breath, refocus, and then continue. OK?" The kid nodded. "Be honest, be raw, and this will all be over soon." She forced herself to smile, to put her client at ease, but it was a little hard to do give that her nerves were just as raw as his.

"Pol," Peter tried again when he saw her in line at the coffee cart, "I'm worried about you." He kept his voice low and pretended to be looking at his phone as he spoke.

"Nothing to worry about." Again, she forced herself to flash a smile. It would have worked on anyone else, but she knew it wasn't going to work on Peter. Still, she had to try.

"That testimony was eerily familiar. Are you OK?"

"What could be wrong? I had the jury in tears. I can smell an acquittal." She stepped out of line and put on her best bravado, but she could feel the tears just behind her eyes so she made her way to an empty conference room. Three deep breaths. Three deep focused breaths. She had to pull it together. She wasn't weak. She wasn't that stupid woman who, according to her theory of the crime, killed herself instead of doing something productive to change her situation. No, she was stronger. She'd pulled herself up from nothing, from being the daughter of a whore living in squalor, to being the general counsel for one of the most well-known teams in baseball, the wife of a Deputy Chief at the State's Attorney's office of Cook County, and living in a condo in the Gold Coast neighborhood of Chicago. She'd made it. She wasn't her mother's daughter anymore. She wasn't Carly Rossetti.

Whatever Polly had said had prepped the kid well. The kid was taking his time answering questions, shifting his gaze from him to the jurors, and when things got rough, the kid looked at Polly who would stand up and object. At least until he cut off the kid's line of sight to the defense table. "Tell us, Mr. Rossetti, what was the real reason you were coming home that weekend?"

"I told you, Mr. Stone. It was because Carly had called me the night before and I didn't like what she sounded like."

"We've heard witnesses state that you were screaming at her, calling her names. Didn't you just have enough, Mr. Rossetti? Enough of her erratic behavior, enough of her endless drama. Isn't that why you came home?"

"Objection! Argumentative." Polly slammed her hands into the table as she stood up. Her client was about to lose it and she had to do something given the fact that Peter had picked up on her visual cues.

"I'll rephrase."

"Not good enough."

"Sit down, Mrs. Stone." Judge Kingsley glared at her. "Watch yourself, Mr. Stone."

"Yes, Your Honor. I apologize." He allowed the kid to calm down, but he wouldn't again. "Mr. Rossetti, why were you screaming at your wife the night before you came home?"

"She was threatening to kill our baby, again. I came home to try to stop her."

"So you knew she was pregnant?"

"That's why she'd called me. She'd just found out and wanted me to know she didn't want this one either."

"That's why you called her a whore?"

"Objection!" Polly stood up again. "Your Honor,"

"Actually, I want to answer that." Mike spoke softly and looked around the prosecutor to his lawyer who shook her head. "It's OK."

"Then the objection is overruled." The judge looked just as surprised as Polly.

"Mr. Stone," the kid spoke with a calm tone that came as a shock even to him, "I'm not a good man. I have trouble controlling my temper. That's why I play ball. It helps me focus. It helps me stay calm because I know I have to be at my best in order to help my team, in order to win. But my wife, sir, she wasn't the angel you're making her out to be either. We fought like cats and dogs because she was sick and all I wanted was for her to be well. Before she the bi-polar, she was happy and full of life. She made me want to be a better man. Then she got sick and she got out of control. I lost my temper with her plenty of times, sure, but I never raised my hand to her, Mr. Stone."

"Then why have we heard testimony that your wife tried to have you brought up on domestic abuse charges?"

"Because she was sick, Mr. Stone. When those officers showed up at my apartment, I wasn't there because I was in the ER being stitched up from where she came at me with a knife."

"Your wife had bruises too. Maybe she was just defending herself."

"No! I grabbed her by the wrists to keep her from stabbing me!"

"Why didn't you have her brought up on charges?"

"You played ball, Mr. Stone. You know what the locker room is like. I didn't want everyone to know that my wife was a psycho!"

"So you would rather be known as a wife beater?" He saw Polly stand up and held up his hand. "Withdrawn."

"It's better than being known as being pussy whipped and unable to control my wife." The kid yelled.

"No further questions."

Polly sighed and dropped her eyes as he walked back to his table. She'd done a good job, but he'd taken back his case. It was in the hands of the jury. At least it was a fight to the finish. At least she hoped that's the way it would be seen.

"Hey." He walked across the aisle after closing arguments. "Join me for dinner."

"Do you really think they are going to come back tonight?"

"I have no idea. I just want to have dinner with the best looking defense attorney in Cook County." He smirked and she finally laughed.

"OK." She pulled her attaché case onto her shoulder and took his offered elbow. "You do know how to read a criminal jury better than I do though. So, what are you thinking?"

"It's a coin-toss. You put on a hell of a case."

"That you undid with one inflammatory question."

"I've been doing this for a little longer than you, Birdie." She gave him a sideways look and he smiled. "In all seriousness, it can go either way. If they come back tonight, it's probably an acquittal. There's no real discussion needed if they find a defendant not guilty. If it takes another day, there was discussion, and it might just go in my favor. There's no clear answer. We both left it all on the field." She nodded and they stepped into the elevator. "You want to tell me what's behind that wall you're putting up?"

"It's nothing. I'm just lost in my head and it's a rather scary place to be."

"Try me. I'm pretty good at scaring away monsters from closets." She shook her head with the same forced smile she'd been giving him all day. "OK. When you're ready," he kissed her temple, "I'm here."

"Is Anna going to be upset that you're eating with me and not her?" Polly joked once they were seated at the steakhouse around the corner from his office.

"Don't care." He didn't return her sentiment. "I'm having dinner with my wife." Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips, laid a soft kiss against her fingers, and watched her flash him that same forced smile, take a deliberate deep breath, and then pull away. "Pol, why don't you cry in front of me?"

"What?"

"You heard me. I want to know. Why don't you call me when you're upset or talk to me when I can see that you're struggling with something?"

"Tears are a weapon of weakness. It's a form of manipulation and I see no use for it. If I can't win the argument, I'm going to find some other alternative of proving my point or else just learning from my mistakes. What is the point of going to pieces in public and making a spectacle of oneself?"

"I'm not talking about in public. I'm talking about with me. In ten years, I have never seen you shed a tear not even at a movie."

"And you never will. I haven't seen you cry either."

"Wrong, Counselor." She looked at him with confusion and shock. "That night in Las Vegas."

"You were drunk."

"I wasn't that drunk. Did you see me as weak or manipulative?"

"No, Peter, I didn't, but that was different. There was a lot going on that night."

"Polly, you didn't even cry at our wedding."

"We were married by a judge at the Cook County courthouse." She rolled her eyes. "Why are you picking this fight?"

"Because you're walling me out, Polly, and picking a fight seems to be the only way to pull you out of it."

She nodded and sighed. "What happens if I win, Peter? I get my acquittal, my client goes back to playing ball, and being the same arrogant cuss you all are at that age when you play ball." He smirked and she returned it briefly.

"This is a first. You're worried about winning?"

"I'm worried about how it's going to look."

"I don't follow."

She scoffed. "Of course you don't. You are the only man I have ever met who is so focused, so secure, that the fact that I make more money that you do doesn't even enter into your stream of consciousness."

"Polly, I write the checks every month. I read the bank statements. I know exactly how much each of us brings in."

"And you don't care, do you?"

"Why should I? We're not going to go broke tomorrow even if you were to come to me and tell me you wanted to quit and become a society wife." He smirked and watched her laugh because there was nothing she would hate more. "Why this sudden concern about the difference in our earnings?"

"Think about it. What happens if I win? You will have lost to your wife."

"Oh," he smirked again, "you're worried that I'm going to appear pussy whipped and unable to control my wife." She laughed again and he smiled. "Don't worry about me, Birdie. I can handle losing a case every once and a while especially to you."

"OK." She smiled and enjoyed when he took her hand again. He'd always been able to do that. He knew when to push, when to let her come to him, and exactly how to eradicate all her fears. She hoped she did the same for him, but he was right. There were times she walled herself up, unable to trust even him, when she knew, beyond a doubt, that she was safe with him. It was made her a great lawyer, but a lousy wife.

They were just finishing dessert when their phones sounded. "The jury's back." He said as he finished a bite of tiramisu. The hand he'd been holding for the better part of dinner suddenly got cold. "It's OK, Birdie. I still love you." He kissed her hand and watched her come back to life.

"Madam Forewoman, will you please read the verdict?" Judge Kingsley instructed twenty minutes later.

"On the sole charge of murder in the second degree, we, the jury, find the defendant not guilty."

Polly was in shock. Not guilty. She won. She beat Peter. Why didn't it feel good? She pulled herself together. It wasn't personal. It was a job and she'd just done hers. She shook her client's hand, her boss' hand, and the hand of the chairman of the board. She'd done a great thing. Yet, for some reason, it just didn't feel like it.

"Congratulations." Peter smiled when Polly walked into the condo an hour later.

"Thanks. I'm sorry it didn't go your way."

"Pol, you won. It's OK to be excited. It's even OK if you want to rub it in my face." He stood up and went to her. "It hasn't sunk in yet, has it?"

"I don't think so."

"Yeah, it's your first big win. It might take a day or so." Taking her into his arm, he kissed her. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you." She smiled a genuine smile and lost herself in his eyes. "That means more to me than anything."


	8. The End

"Polly!" The assistant batting coach ran to catch the elevator behind her the next afternoon. "I think we're both headed to the same floor this morning." He smiled as the door closed. "I must offer you my hardy thanks and congratulations. You are one hell of a lawyer."

"Thank you, John. I was just doing my job though." Polly flashed him a smile then returned to watching the floor numbers change, willing them to go faster. Her 'win' still hadn't sunk in, still didn't sit right, and she somewhere in the middle of the night, as she lay in bed watching her husband sleep, she wasn't sure it ever would considering who her opposing counsel had been. She loved when they would play their games, object when the other would say something, play devil's advocate when the other was preparing for trial, but actually facing him in court hadn't been the rush she thought it would be.

John gushed, oblivious to how uncomfortable he was making her. "That was some job. I mean, when Mike called me that Saturday and told me what had happened, I didn't know how we were going to fix it. I mean, this was big."

"Wait, Mike called you?" She felt a knot forming in her stomach, and not the good kind. "I thought Mike called Jed, which is why Jed called me."

"No way. Mike and Jed don't exactly see eye to eye. Jed tolerates the kid because he's a damn good catcher, but I don't think his contract is going to be renewed next year. So, I doubt that Mike would admit a fart to Jed much less knifing his wife."

That knot became a wave of nausea that Polly swallowed down with a forced smile. "Oh. I guess not. So, you called Jed?"

"Yep, and he called you, and you worked some magic in that courtroom so we can repeat. Thanks!" He pat her shoulder as the elevator stopped and he stepped off, leaving her there shocked.

The executive conference room was filled with board members and front office higher-ups and Polly wanted to run away. Did they all know? If not, who knew what? Why hadn't they told her? What had she done? It didn't matter. What was done was done. She took a deep breath, put on her best smile, and worked the room full of testosterone like she was back on stage. It wasn't the first time she'd been burned, it wouldn't be the last, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Mark had been none too happy about a high profile loss, but Peter, for the first time, didn't care. Polly had put on a damn good case that even had him believing the kid was innocent so it was no surprise that the jury acquitted. Her work in the courtroom was nothing short of a gift. He'd sat in the gallery during her trials before and she was compelling, every eye followed her around the room, even when she didn't have to dance, he smiled to himself. "Hi." His smile widened when she picked up her phone later that night. "It sunk in yet?"

"No, I don't think so." She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, willing the tears not to fall. She never should have answered, but she needed to hear his voice, she needed his light. "You on your way home?"

"In about an hour. I have one more brief to draft."

"OK."

There was usually a quip about how he was a boxers man when he made statements like that, but none came. "Polly, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's been a long week. I'm just tired." The first tear fell down her cheek as she stepped inside their condo and she put her head against the front door, forcing a smile so he wouldn't hear it.

Her voice was off and it was more than exhaustion. "Are you home?"

"Just walked in."

"OK, well, don't make anything. It's Friday night. We'll go out."

"Mmhmm, sounds good. I'll go jump in the shower now and be ready for you."

"Polly, I love you."

"I love you too." She felt her body hitch as the tears streamed down her face, now beyond her control at the sound of those three words, and she covered her mouth so he wouldn't hear as she hung up.

There was something wrong. Now he knew it. She never hung up that fast and there'd been a sound right before that he couldn't identify. The damn brief would wait. His wife, his Birdie, was more important, and he threw things into his briefcase. "Yes, Anna?" He barely looked up when his assistant walked in.

"Nagel, Dawson, and I are headed over to Molly's to kind of lick our wounds. You're welcome to join us."

"Rain check. I'm headed home."

"Everything OK?" There was a look of panic on her boss' face.

"I," he thought as he pulled his bag onto his shoulder, "don't know. I'll see you Monday." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his billfold and handed her a ten. "Buy a round on me."

"Thanks." Anna looked at him confused as he took off down the hall.

Peter tried to race uptown, barely slowing for red lights, grateful he'd decided to take the car that morning instead of the train. "Polly?" He dropped his briefcase on a living room chair next to hers. The place was eerily quiet. Polly didn't do quiet. There was always music going or the TV on. A sense of dread was rising up in him as he ran down the hall. "Birdie?" He called again.

The tears had started again when she heard his rich baritone voice carrying through their home and she covered her mouth to keep from screaming again as her body hitched. She had to pull herself together because he wasn't going to want her if he asked her what was wrong because she wasn't sure she could keep it inside any longer. What she'd done, what she'd done to him, felt like it was eating her alive.

He opened the door to the master bath and saw his wife on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, and her face red from crying. "Oh my god!"

"I'm sorry." Her body hitched uncontrollably at the sight of her sweet husband and the concern in his eyes. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"It's OK, Polly. It's going to be OK." Grabbing her robe from the back of the door, he wrapped it around her naked body and took her into his arms as he joined her on the floor. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it." He stroked her hair as she wailed, the tears stinging his eyes as he held her as tight to his chest as he could with her trembling so violently. "I love you, Birdie."

"You know what my earliest memory is?' She tried to speak using lungs that were over-extended and felt like they were on fire. "It's of my mother plying her trade. I was ten. She'd sent me to play outside, as usual, when she had over one of her 'friends', but we lived in a housing project and nothing really worked right so, I jiggled the handle to our door, unlocked it, and pulled out the chain that wasn't properly fastened. It was raining and I wanted to watch TV not be outside waiting for her."

Peter felt his skin crawling, but knew that this was something she had to say, so he stayed quiet, continuing the stroking of her hair as she spoke.

"I heard strange noises coming from my mother's bedroom so I went to go look and there was my mother, on her hands and knees, allowing some guy to shove her head down on him by the hair. It was repulsive, and when they were through, my mother wiped her mouth with a smile, walked the guy to the door, and took his twenty dollar bill for services rendered." The silent tears started falling down her cheeks again. "I swore I was never going to let anyone do that to me. I was going to be better than she was, worth more. No one was ever going to get me on my knees and devalue me but, it turns out, we all have our price."

"Polly," he fought nausea, "did someone hurt you?"

"Not physically, but they did the same thing." She wiped the tears from her cheeks. "A hundred thousand dollars. They gave me a bonus of a hundred thousand dollars after knowing…after not telling me…"

"It's OK. I understand." Privilege prevented her from telling him exactly what she was telling him by not being able to say the words. "I'm so sorry."

"Why? You were right."

"I wish I weren't."

"Me too."


End file.
